Abgründe

On the first leg of our trip, after dealing with chipped windscreens and a serious lack of petrol in the middle of the Kalahari Desert (we’re talking red petrol light... twice), Simon and I finally ran out of luck in Namibia. On a road that was so full of potholes that it almost resembled a minigolf course, we got a puncture and broke down. Bugger!

Normally I would be eternally grateful for anyone offering help, but in the middle of nowhere and in the middle of the night, I found myself hoping that no one would stop. Anyone stopping is not just potentially a helper, but also a danger. Stranded cars are an easy target...

So when a car slowed down, I was torn: On the one hand I felt that we needed help, but on the other hand, I wasn’t sure whether this “help” would make things better or worse.

It is a rather sad reality, that in a moment like this, you pray for a white couple to step out of the car or at least a white man (women won't stop - too dangerous). Whether actually true or not a black man seems to pose a greater danger than a white one.

So when two young black men stepped out of the car, all my alarm bells started to ring immediately.

And I immediately hated myself for it.

There I was – stranded by the side of the road, unable to fix the problem myself and two people were so kind to interrupt their journey and offer their help. And I paid their kindness back with fear. Would I have been nervous if two white men had stopped? Probably not...

I have not once had a bad experience with black people - most of my friends are black and I frequently find myself as the only white girl in a room full of black people. Do I feel unsafe in these situations? Not in the slightest! Black people in Africa have shown me nothing but kindness - yet I was scared.

The two men looked at our damaged tire and wanted to help us fix it. When they went back to their car to get some tools, Simon and I decided not to risk anything and rather roll to the next town on the hubcap than let these guys fix the tire.

I don’t think I have disliked myself more than when we drove 10km/h behind the two guys, who escorted us to the town, pointed us in the right direction and then wished us luck fixing the tire...